Take This Sinking Boat and Point It Home
by iknowhowyoukiss
Summary: Emma's eyes take in the scene before her and dread and panic simultaneously sink into the bottom of her stomach. She's back. She'd fallen through Zelena's time portal and landed back in the Enchanted Forest - in the past - with no magic and no clue how to get home. (Speculative fic written before the S3 Finale/The CS Movie, based heavily on spoilers.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Speculative fic based on the Season 3 finale (aka the CS Movie :3).

Also, I want to take the time to **_THANK YOU _**all so, so much for reading and liking and reblogging my fics and coming into my askbox to flail and yelling at me in your tags (my favorite thing - I always feel really accomplished when this happens, okay? LOL). I have such a fun time writing for these two idiots and it makes me really happy that I'm able to move something in you with my words the way that they've moved those words in me. It's been quite the journey over the last three seasons and such an honor fangirling with all of you and watching the beautiful story of Hook and Emma unfold this year. I can't wait to see where it continues to go because you know it's only going to get more amazing from here ;)) Cheers and love and smoochies XO (Posted to Tumblr May 11th, 2014.)

* * *

><p><em>Falling slowly<em>

_Eyes that know me_

_And I can't go back_

.

.

She groans as she comes to, eyes fluttering open then abruptly squinting against the bright sunlight. "Ugh," she grimaces, sitting up slowly and touching a hand to her head when the world spins. "Damn it."

_Damn it!_ Her eyes take in the scene before her and dread and panic simultaneously sink into the bottom of her stomach. She's back. She'd fallen through Zelena's time portal and landed back in the Enchanted Forest _in the past _(_Goddamn it!_) with no magic and no clue how to get home or even _way_ of getting home and no one-

She hears his quiet curse beside her, head whipping reflexively in his direction, and her heart literally jumps into her throat while her entire body freezes in place. Her eyes widen in disbelief and her mouth drops open slightly because _Jesus Christ_, she was not prepared for this. She was not prepared _at all_ for the sight of him sitting there not but a few feet away.

He'd come after her.

Emma remembers his frantic shout, the harsh '_no!_' followed by the sharp scream of her name when her fingers had slipped from his grasp. It makes her ache thinking about it, it makes the ache _worse_ because she never thought- never believed- _Jesus._ He jumped through a freaking portal _after her_.

She presses her lips together, emotion fisting tight under her breastbone and making it hard to breathe.

"Bloody hell," he curses, rising to his feet and striding towards her the second his eyes land on her.

His hook latches around her wrist while his other hand reaches up to cup her face. Her body freezes in place at the contact and her eyes go wide on his because they don't _do this_. They don't touch, they may be in each other's personal spaces (a lot), but they don't ever touch.

"Are you alright? You're not hurt?" he asks softly, sweeping his gaze over her and checking for himself anyway.

She swallows thickly but the words don't come. She shakes her head in lieu of them. Emma can feel the cool metal of the rings on his fingers against her skin, it contrasts with the warmth radiating from his palm, but for whatever reason, she finds it soothing. Then there's an abrupt and amused grin on his face that makes her brow quirk.

"What?" she asks, bewildered.

His teeth flash, dimples in his cheeks winking. "Nice dress."

The way he says it sounds like he's about to snort out a chuckle and when she glances down she can see why. She's not just in a _dress_, she's in something akin to a _gown_ (with a corset bodice for crying out loud) and a patterned brown cape (that looks suspiciously like it's been made out of curtains) draped over her shoulders. She sighs in distaste, nose wrinkling at that but most especially the brownish, poofy…_thing_ draped on her body.

She freaking hates this realm.

Her eyes flit back to him and she scowls. "Hey! Why do you get to keep _your_ clothes?"

Hook looks down at his own attire and shrugs. "I've no clue. I assume it's because, depending on how far back in time we've gone, I was- _am_- you know what I mean…a pirate."

It makes _sense_ for them to be dressed the way they are, all things considering, but that doesn't mean she has to like it. His gaze moves back to her, roaming up and down leisurely once more (she ignores the way his eyes linger on her breasts, simultaneously cursing and thanking the corset, but _no_, the breath does not back up into her lungs, it absolutely _does not_). She catches his smile, the way it reaches all the way up to his eyes, and she sighs internally. _Damn it._

"Don't you dare," she warns, meeting his stare.

The laugh escapes anyway and she can't help but crack a smile back because it's _his_ lilting laugh and it's so rare — she can't even recall the last time she's actually _heard_ it. She'll never admit it, but she rather likes the sound.

Emma rolls her eyes. "Come on, Pirate, we've got our work cut out for us." She backs away, shying out of his reach and attempting not to pay attention to the absence of his warmth —_ Christ almighty, focus Emma_. "Are you, ah…ready to go? We have to figure out a way to get back."

Hook doesn't respond, simply smiles at her — a soft, sad smile — and she can practically hear the unspoken words between them, what it actually means for them to go back…the truths of her impending departure and his subsequent heartbreak. It feels wrong. It all feels so _wrong_ and everything inside of her is screaming in protest until she's practically suffocating from the overwhelming emotions.

The thoughts make her stomach clench — _fuck — _while a harsh chill works its way across her shoulders and down her spine. It's _too much_, Goddamn it, and he can't just keep _looking at her like that, _like she's the moon and the stars and everything in between and-

His sigh cuts her off and the way he moves away from her makes her heart squeeze. It leaves a dull ache there in her chest and she resists the urge to reach up rub the heel of her hand over it. She watches him glance around them, eyes thoughtful though unreadable. After a moment, he brushes past her and sets off deeper into the trees. He leaves her there trembling and wanting and _fuck_, as if she didn't have _enough_ to mull over and worry about.

Emma looks at him over her shoulder, watches as he stops a few feet away to turn back to her. His smile widens abruptly — that infamous, devastating, heart-stopping smile — and he holds out his hand.

"Are you coming then?"

She rolls her eyes skyward as she exhales heavily and she turns on her heels, picking up her skirt and following after him. He doesn't say anything else when she bypasses his hand, simply falling into step beside her.

* * *

><p>He'd appeared out of no where in the woods — stringy-haired, glittering skin, claw-like nails, calculating eyes — every bit the frightening character he'd been portrayed as in storybooks in her world. Saying he'd been displeased with them would be an understatement, because he was positively livid that they'd accidentally prevented her parents from meeting that fateful day in the woods.<p>

_You must undo what you did, dearies._

That's what Rumplestiltskin had said with a menacing tone before warning them of the consequences of their actions — of the stories they would alter and the futures they would destroy — if they failed. It was a heavy burden to carry, one that ate anxiously away at her stomach and left her shoulders tense. He'd been strangely kind though, bestowing each of them with a temporary gift that would help ensure the success of their mission.

Hers is magic — fierce and bright and _hers_ — and it's return is so overpowering that her head reels. She doesn't know what Hook's is, doesn't have time to ask because Rumple is consuming all of their attention.

_Oh, but wait! Every story needs a memorable detail_.

That's what he'd told them with a creepy, child-like giggle and a flamboyant wave of his hand before they'd gone up in a poof of smoke and abruptly found themselves outside of the gates to King Midas' castle — in complete _royal garb_. Emma curses, dizzy from the onslaught of magic — both internal and external. It takes a few moments, but the fog finally clears around her head and she cringes as she looks down at her bright red gown — absolutely befitting of a princess — while her stomach flips because she can _feel_ the tiara sitting on her head and really, _of all the things!_

She glances up at Hook and she has enough time for her jaw to drop before the world goes completely still — freezing time and drowning out sound and dulling _everything_ except for _him_. _Christ almighty._ Nothing in her life could have prepared her for this, for the sight of him standing beside her looking every bit like a freaking prince made just for her.

He is…_stunning_ is the only word that continues to flash in bright neon lights in her head as she rakes her gaze over him. She's never imagined him without his leathers, never really had a reason to since he seemed so insistent on wearing the exact same attire for as long as she's known him, but she quickly realizes the error of her ways.

It's not even that he's _not_ in the same attire, he's still donning his leather boots and his favored long coat. He's still wearing a vest and breeches. He still looks like he walked off the pages of a romance novel — damn him. He looks exactly the same just…_softer_ somehow. Infinitely _softer_ and it backs the breath up into her lungs and makes her stomach flip and _Jesus fucking Christ_ she was so, _so_ not prepared.

She realizes half a second later that it's his color palette. He's been moved away from the head-to-toe black so distinctly _his_ color. Granted, his boots are still black, but his breeches are instead a dark gray in a contrasting material. His waistcoat is black too but she can tell by the white peeking out from under it, as well as the ends of his sleeves, that he has on some ridiculous frilly shirt underneath and _no_, she's not drooling. She's _not_. It's as ridiculous as his too-handsome face and his-too blue eyes and _what the hell was Gold even thinking?_

The coat is what draws the most of her attention though. It's _brown_, a light caramel color in a soft quilted fabric that makes her fingers itch to run across it, and though the lapels, collar and ends of the sleeves are black as well, they are more accents than anything else.

Emma swallows back the lump in her throat, reminding herself to _focus_ because they are on an incredibly important mission and she can't afford any distractions. "Hook-"

Her words cut out when it suddenly dawns on her that he is in fact _sans hook_, that he actually has _two_ hands, and _Lord_, she was not prepared for that either. Apparently, neither was he because it's the sheer and utter _shock_ on his face that has her reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder.

That's it. That was his gift. "Killian," she says quietly.

"I never- I just- I never imagined-"

Her heart constricts in her chest when he stutters through his words and turns his restored hand back and forth while examining it. It's a fist in the gut to see him this way, to know instinctively what it means to him to have this part of him back.

"We have to go," she murmurs, fingers squeezing his shoulder gently as she silently reminds him that they're on borrowed time.

He turns those wide, storm-blue eyes on hers, as if he's forgotten that she's been with him all along and when they focus on her, _really focus_ —_ God_ — everything aches.

"_Swan_," he exhales, and his hands are there suddenly, cupping gently at her face. "_Emma._"

_Ohhh. _She goes rigid, body coiled with tension while his fingertips trace along the dips and curves and lines — cheekbones, jaw, nose, eyebrows, lips. His gaze follows the paths greedily, as if memorizing every bit of her with touch and sight. Her skin ignites, sparking wherever he caresses, and somehow — maybe because he's an open book, maybe because it's something more, maybe because it's whatever is between them — she _knows_ exactly what he's doing and why he's doing it.

She aches for him, she _hurts_ for him, and when he touches at a loose piece of hair dangling from her up-do and framing her face, twisting it around his finger, and the corners of his mouth tug up softly, she has to press her lips together to keep her feelings from welling up and spewing over. The expression on his face is heartbreaking — there's so much wonder there in doing such a simple task, so much _sadness _in the unspoken reality of what isn't his to keep, so much of _too much_ and all she can do is grasp onto his wrists and hold on.

His eyes finally meet hers and he gives her a sheepish smile, suddenly remembering that he'd overstepped their boundaries by touching her, that they had more pressing matters to attend to (like fixing the past and getting back to Storybrooke). He averts his gaze as he pulls away from her.

"Apologies," he mumbles, and the embarrassment is evident in his voice. "I- I just…" He gives a wry laugh that twists her stomach in knots. "I just wanted to be able to do that before…" His voice fades out and he sighs, shaking his head. "Forget it. I'm sorry."

But she can't forget it because she already knows what he intended to say — before he _couldn't_, before they go back to Storybrooke and things return to as they were and he goes back to being his moniker and she…goes back to New York.

Her heart tightens, painfully so. She's not sure what to say, not entirely sure what to feel either since everything is a jumbled, bittersweet mess inside of her. Instead, she simply slips her hands into his and holds tight until he raises his head and meets her stare once more. There's a warmth between their palms, a spark that ignites along her skin and makes her tingle everywhere. Her lips curve gently at him as his eyes search hers and there must be something in them that he sees that eases his mind, because he relaxes on a sigh which in turn makes her exhale in relief.

His gaze moves over her then, and her stomach clenches as his brows shoot up and his eyes widen. "_Swan_," he breathes in that breathy way that squeezes at her heart.

She smiles shyly when his blue eyes meet her green. "That bad huh?"

Killian shakes his head gently. He won't stop looking at her, _appreciating_ her, and it's beyond overwhelming to be looked at with such reverence and _wanting_. He inches closer, body stepping further into her personal space as his left hand reaches for her again and Emma takes one sudden inhalation of breath.

This is new for them, all this _touching_. They don't touch, he's always been very conscious of her space (a memory flits through her mind, sharp and abrupt — reminding her that he'd kissed her in New York, tried to _True Love's kiss her_ — Jesus Christ) and very careful about keeping his hand (now _hands_) to himself (she doesn't know whether to be grateful or frustrated). Something tells her however, that he'll continue to find these little moments during their adventure (but she can't say the thought displeases her — damn it).

He rests his palm against her cheek, thumb stroking over the corner of her mouth. The gesture warms her, makes her antsy as she shifts her weight back and forth from foot to foot.

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" he asks quietly.

Emma shakes her head in confusion, her brows pinching together. "What do you mean?"

His fingers move down to her neck, anchoring there so his thumb can run along the length of her jaw. Her body shivers involuntarily and she curses in her mind, then it sways towards him and she has to reach up to hold his sides in order to steady herself.

"Not wanting you. Letting you go."

His words are like a punch to the gut, making her insides constrict an excruciating amount, and it takes her a moment to recover. When she does, panic creeps in, her _heart_ protesting profusely because this is _wrong_. She knows it's so _wrong. _There's so much hurt there in his eyes, on his face, and every bit caused by her.

"Killian-"

"Come on, love," he interrupts. "We've your future to save."

He releases her and takes a few steps back, face stoic, and she suddenly feels cold all over. He averts his eyes and focuses on the task of slipping on a pair of gloves that he retrieves from his pocket, completing his look, then offers her his arm. His smile is tight, distant, _sad _and she hates it. Emma stares at him for a long time — wishing, hoping, _wanting_. There are so many words on the tip of her tongue, so many feelings threatening to spew over. She pushes it all back, refusing to acknowledge them out loud before gently sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow and allowing him to lead her into the ball.

* * *

><p>She is <em>one person<em>, only one damn person, how the _hell_ is she going to do this?

"Charles…Prince Charles," she spits out, internally screaming at herself. _Charles? Seriously?_ "And I'm Princess…" _For fuck's sake_, all of the princess names that she would use under normal circumstances have already been taken because — _hello_ — they already exist! _Think, Emma!_ "Leia."

She wants to slam her head against a wall because _honestly_, but she curtsies instead, lowering her eyes to avoid King Midas' gaze, and feels Killian bow beside her.

"An honor to have you both," he replies. "Announce Prince Charles and Princess Leia!"

Emma smiles as they pass him by, fingers gripping tight on Killian's arm. It's not until they enter the ballroom, free and clear, that she breathes, the air exploding from her lungs shakily as her body sags in relief beside him.

"Nicely done," he murmurs, leaning over so his mouth is near her ear. His breath is hot against the shell and triggers a jolt down her spine.

She turns towards him and has to remind herself to calm down despite his close proximity. She is relieved to see his smile in place — she far prefers it to his sulky, wounded puppy demeanor from earlier. _This_ she can handle better than the things that hurt them both.

"Thanks," she replies. She sighs again, glances out at the other guests in all of their grandeur and suddenly feels very out of place. She is a princess by birth but she is completely out of her element. "Now what?"

"Now, we find your father."

"There are like…a million people here! It's like looking for a needle in a haystack!"

"Have a little faith, Swan," he mumbles.

She looks at him again because he sounds distracted and he is, by whatever is happening in the middle of the room. Her eyes drift, following his line of sight, and her brow furrows at the group of people setting up on the floor for what looks to be like some sort of dance. His intention becomes clear the minute he starts to pull her in that direction.

"_Killian!_" she hisses. "What the hell are you doing? Are you _insane_?"

"You can see everyone if we're in the middle of the room, darling."

"I'm not going to dance with you! I don't even know _how_ to dance! Killian-" She attempts to cease his movements by tugging on his arm, but he's already depositing her amongst the other dancers and taking his place across from her.

"Well, then you're in luck because _I_ do." He grins again, winking at her and holding out his hand just as the music begins to start. "Just follow my lead."

She's panicked, she's completely panicked because he absolutely bowled her over and she is, by _no means_, anything as graceful as her namesake would imply and this is not just a bad idea, it's a _horrible_ one and she's going to _kill him_ the minute this is through and-

The ladies around her start to move towards their partners and she looks on either side of her at all of them before turning her attention back to him, eyes wide and terrified. He gestures with the crook of his fingers and beckons her to come forward. She curses under her breath and he grins suddenly because he _knows_ (_idiot_), but she begins to walks towards him, focusing on the encouraging smile on his face and the amusement dancing in his eyes.

Emma hesitates before him and his eyes flicker to his outstretched hand then back to hers.

"Trust me," he tells her. "I've got you, Swan, I promise."

The breath backs up into her lungs because the moment seems oddly significant. She doesn't miss the way her hand trembles as she slides it into his waiting one, doesn't miss the way the heat curls between them before shooting down into her stomach, and she most definitely doesn't miss the way their bodies bump when his other hand slips around her waist and draws her closer.

"Eyes up, look right at me."

And she does, right into the deep blue of his irises until she's drowning in their endless depths and everything inside of her calms and _breathes_. He's moving them, swaying her in perfect, precise steps that should frighten her, but don't in the slightest. He lifts his hand and somehow she knows instinctively to move under it so he can spin her. It's baffling, how her body just seems to understand what he's asking it to do.

"You're a natural," he tells her.

She rolls her eyes when she's nestled back in his arms, finding the spot both comforting and familiar. It doesn't surprise her how perfectly she fits there, it _should_ but it's so…_right _that she doesn't even question it. Her heart squeezes, aching heavily.

"Where'd you learn to dance?" she wonders, deflecting her attention away from her emotions and onto him instead.

"I may be a pirate, Swan, but I'm very much a gentleman." There's no heat in his tone, just a smile.

"So, what…did you learn on the ship? Dancing around with your crew of miscreants?" Her voice is teasing.

"No," he chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners. "They've no appreciation for the art."

That surprises her, makes her eyebrow arch as she thinks about that. He's such a complex, layered, fascinating individual and the urge to dig a little deeper — to discover all those little facets of his personality — is exceedingly strong. She wants all of those minute details about him, about his life. She shouldn't, but she does.

"Then where?" she presses.

He smiles at her and her stomach flips because he's so stupidly attractive — it's entirely unfair and distracting. She clears her throat — reminding herself that it's just a job, they're just doing some reconnaissance (so what if she hadn't actually looked away from him in the last few moments?), and it didn't mean anything that she is actually enjoying herself.

"That suits you, you know."

He deflects and she lets him, though instinctively she knows it was a long time ago, perhaps lifetimes ago — well before Captain Hook. She has a hard time imagining him like that — young, carefree, light. Then he looks at her _like that_ and smiles at her in _just that way _as he dances her around the room, and it's not so hard after all.

Her heart feels heavy in her chest as she cants her head at him. "What does?"

"Your smile. Being happy."

His words catch her off guard and her shoulders tense abruptly, anxiously.

"It could be like this all the time." There's a quiet desperation in his voice that speaks all the things he won't say out loud but that she hears nonetheless. _Don't go back to New York. Don't leave again. Stay._

Emma doesn't have a chance to gather her thoughts for a reply, because a familiar laugh sounds through the hall and her head snaps towards it. Everything she might have been _thinking_ about, everything she might have wanted to say, is abruptly forgotten at the sight of her father across the room. He looks almost the same — younger, definitely, and hair shorter too, but no less handsome and no less charismatic. There's a sweet ache in her chest as she watches him, the vestiges of a lonely little girl who still believes in fairytales and 'Happily Ever Afters' that wistfully whispers, _Daddy_.

"Killian." Her fingers tighten on his and she swallows thickly. "Killian look, it's David."

She can feel his gaze piercing into the side of her head but she refuses to acknowledge it. Their time has passed (for now), and they have more urgent things to be focusing on.

"Dance me over there," she tells him. "I have an idea."

* * *

><p>After the shenanigans of the previous night — primarily suffering through the remainder of the ball (which, if she were going to be honest, hadn't been <em>that<em> awful with Killian at her side), a dangerous altercation with Regina's guards (party crashers) in which he had risked bodily harm and his very _life_ to protect her (she was still livid about that) and she'd simply, without hesitation, blasted the guards with magic when one had gotten precariously close to hurting him (they didn't speak about it, but he'd grinned like an idiot the rest of the evening — _God_), acquiring new clothes that didn't squish her internal organs together and hinder her breathing (a potato sack-looking dress stolen from the servants' quarters on their way out of the castle), and finding appropriate sleeping arrangements for the evening (they'd been lucky enough to find a shallow cave that worked well enough — and if she'd woken up with his coat blanketed around her and her head pillowed on his lap, they didn't speak a single word about _that_ either) — Emma couldn't _wait_ to get the hell out of here already.

"Are you sure this is going to work?"

She scrunches her face and ignores him, focusing on her magic and the heat radiating from her fingertips. "Concentrating," she mumbles, body trembling slightly from strain.

He sighs and she can clearly picture his brow arching at her in her mind, can see him leaning against the trunk of a tree with his arms and ankles crossed in his shiny new outfit (the man was freaking model-gorgeous in the light of day, okay, and she was still _human_ and she still had _eyes_) and _good grief_. _Control, Emma_. They had a lot of ground to cover still, a limited amount of time, and the last thing she needs is to be distracted by…_him_.

"How do you know your father's carriage hasn't already passed?"

He needs to stop talking so she can cut this damn tree down, needs stop clouding her head with his attractive face and his dashing clothes and images of himself clashing swords with the enemy while screaming at her to '_go!_' like some kind of knight sans armor — he's like a fucking Disney prince, she swears to _God_.

"Because," she mutters.

She has to believe it, she doesn't have a _choice. _It really is that simple. She has to believe that some higher power will step in where they had intervened and will fix the threads of Fate, because when two people are so perfectly meant for each other (like her parents are), there is nothing that can keep them apart.

Killian's hand falls firmly to her lower back as she has that thought (merely a coincidence, of course), steadying her when she sways from the exerted effort of magic. Her power surges at the touch (completely unrelated to each other though, obviously) and she hears the wood continuing to creak. The tree begins to wobble and she uses the last of her will and energy to _push_. It glows, golden and bright against the deep greens of the surrounding woods, and suddenly it breaks, the sound echoing around them as it abruptly falls straight into the path of where she expects the carriage to pass.

He moves reflexively, hand closing around her arm as if ready to jerk her out of harm's way. He's a sweet idiot, her pirate…they're more than far enough away to ensure their safety, but she smiles when she angles her face towards him.

"My dad's a hopeless romantic, not to mention he has ears like a fox, we were close enough during our conversation to plant the seed for an irresistible spot for him to properly propose to his would-be lady love. Per Henry's book, Snow White will happen upon David and Kathryn's carriage and simply assume them to be another one of the Queen's that she can steal from. The plan is practically fool-proof-"

"Except for the fact that we don't _know_ if your mother is even anywhere remotely in the area."

She scowls at him, hands moving to her hips. "Why are you being so negative? Aren't you the one who's always talking about faith and-"

He hushes her suddenly, sharply, eyes far away as he listens for…_something._ Emma stills, breath holding in her lungs while she joins him, her ears straining for the slightest of sounds. She hears nothing and is about to comment on it when he moves lightning fast — arm wrapping around her waist and simultaneously pivoting so they spin behind the trunk of a nearby tree.

Her back hits the wood with a dull thud and her arms get trapped between them with her hands flat against his chest, the breath exploding out of her on a gasp. His body covers hers — warm and male and real and strong — and his face hovers mere inches away while the scent of sea and spice and _fabric_ surround her and sends her head reeling.

_They are on a mission for fuck's sake_, she reminds herself. _A risky, potentially life-altering mission_ and she doesn't have the _time_ to be allowing her hormones to get in the way. _Jesus Christ — _it's worse than last night!

"Are you alright?" he whispers.

You can't prove that the fact that she can't _breathe_ has anything at all to do with him, anything at all. She forces back the lump in her throat then nods because she doesn't trust her voice, but in another second, she doesn't need it, body freezing and attention shifting at the quiet rustling sound on the other side of the tree. Killian holds a finger up to his lips, signaling her silence, then peeks carefully around the trunk. The look that crosses his face makes her heart jump — it's her mother, she knows it is.

Her fingers flex against the lapels of his jacket and she pushes lightly against his torso. _Not_ because she can't breathe or think with him so close, okay? Not because of that. He chuckles quietly, another sheepish smile gracing his lips before he eases off of her so she can take a quick look as well.

Her body jolts seeing Snow this way, with her hair ridiculously long and her bandit outfit — complete with matching green cape — adorably fluffy and not the least bit intimidating. It makes Emma want to laugh but she holds it back, grinning instead at the image and the way her mother curiously studies the fallen tree. The sentimental part of her aches sweetly at seeing Mary Margaret- Snow so…young yet not…so different yet exactly the same.

The hair on Emma's neck stands on end, perfectly honed instincts making her tug Killian out of view half a second before Snow's gaze falls in their direction. His lips curve with thanks as their eyes meet and the blue deepens with his amusement before flickering to her lips briefly.

_Really? _She scowls at him, resisting the urge to hit him. _Focus! _

He gives her a mocking little bow with just his head and she rolls her eyes in answer.

She hears footsteps advancing towards them and her fingers curl into Killian's collar, knuckles turning white as panic jumps into her belly. They're going to get caught, they're going to get so caught and how the hell would they even explain this and-

The sound of horses and a carriage approaching stills Snow's feet. There's more rustling, the sound of someone exerting physical effort and when she and Killian glance out from behind their hiding spot, they see her mother clambering up a tree for a better vantage point.

Her smile is smug; it's going to work, their plan is going to work.

It's like watching a movie to a beloved story she knows forwards and backwards, only she's actually _in _it. She knows the story, she's read Henry's book enough to have it nearly memorized word for word, but it still boggles her mind to see it play out in real time.

Snow steals Charming's jewels and he abruptly gives chase. No longer concerned with their secrecy, she rushes forward and cranes her neck, trying to see what happens next. Snow is on her back, the hood of her cape no longer hiding her face. There's an exchange, followed by Snow hitting Charming with a rock. It makes her snort because before all of…_this_, when David was _just_ David and not her father, she'd always wondered where that scar had come from.

Something sparks in her memory then, something from a long time ago…a duel, a compass, an eerily familiar punch, and her heart clenches in her chest. Beside her, Killian hums thoughtfully in the back of his throat, and she knows instinctively that his thoughts mirror her own. She ignores the way his eyes bore into the side of her head, swallowing at the lump of emotions lodged in her throat.

_"__Wherever you are, I will find you!"_

His attention moves back to the almost lovers and he chuckles quietly at her father's booming voice. "Who'd have thought the family motto originated as a threat."

Her mind continues to drift around in her memories…to a hospital room, a snide remark and a sarcastic smile in answer. _I'd pick you_. Her stomach flips.

He grabs her hand without thinking, drawing her away from her thoughts and into the safety of the forest.

"Come on then, love," he says. "We've some work to do."

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I split this up into two parts because a 10k fic in one go just seemed too long LOL (Posted to Tumblr May 11th, 2014.)

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><p>Never in her life did she think she'd be acting as Cupid, especially not to her parents, especially not in the <em>past<em> of all places, yet here she was, crouched behind a thick bush while Killian goes up to bat and chats comfortably with her father as they tie knots into the ropes she'd magically fastened from vines.

Charming looks…_young_ — his face, his build, the air about him that still hints a bit at the shepherd he once was. The kindness is still there though, the tenacity and determination, and Emma finds herself fisting a hand just under her breastbone, attempting to keep her emotions in check as she watches him and Killian.

"Bad luck, mate," Killian agrees, fingers working expertly at the rope in his lap.

Emma tries not to be distracted by his hands — large…wide-palmed…_long_ fingered — but she can't help herself. She clear as day remembers the heat that could radiate from them, remembers how he'd cradled her head in Neverland when she'd kissed him (she shivers involuntarily at the thought) and touched her face last night (like he was worshipping her), and how his calloused fingertips moved gently across her warming skin (mapping and searing every dip and line and curve to memory). _Jesus fucking Christ._

"Tell me about it," Charming says to Killian.

It's oddly comedic how he says it to be perfectly aligned with Emma's internal musings, despite the fact that he's on a completely separate topic of discussion. She exhales a shaky breath and scrubs her hands exasperatedly over her face.

"What did you say she looks like again?" Killian asks.

"Dark hair, light skin, lips pink as roses. Her eyes are green…" Charming's brow furrows as he thinks of Snow. "With flecks of gold."

"Ah, a _fair_ maiden then," Killian says, planting the seed — though really, with the accuracy and detail in her father's description, she doubts it's necessary.

"I suppose…if you like the stealing, aggressive, spitfire type," Charming snorts, eyes rolling skyward in the familiar way that hers so often do.

She notices Killian's quick upward turn of lips at Charming's gesture before his eyes find hers between the branches of the bush. He means to tell her that she's every bit her father's daughter, she knows as much, but what she also catches in his gaze is the irony of Charming's statement and how he's managed to both simultaneously describe Snow and Emma perfectly and how he and Killian feel about them respectively.

Her heart stutters in her chest but she pushes back the feelings that are simmering at the surface because they just _don't have time for this_ and replies in turn with a roll of her own eyes before she gives him a pointed look. _Hurry up, pirate._

His brow arches and he makes it a point to finish tying the last knot much slower than the previous ones, just to grate on her nerves. "There you are, mate. That should do it." He hands Charming the net then rises to his feet.

That's Emma's cue and she quietly makes her way towards a grove of trees she knows Charming is going to pass, purposefully hanging up one of her mother's 'WANTED' posters in plain sight. She can hear their voices over the woodland chatter of the birds.

"You're sure this will hold her?"

"Absolutely…she'll be…_charmed_, I'm sure," Killian's accent lilts, punctuating on the variant of her father's soon-to-be nickname.

"_Idiot_," Emma mutters under her breath.

Charming chuckles in turn and when she makes her way back to her spot, and peeks through the bush, she sees their hands clasped together companionably.

"Thank you for your help," he tells Killian.

"Don't worry about it." He pauses then, thinking of something, and her brow furrows at him, afraid he's going to say something wildly inappropriate. "I hope you get your lass."

His voice is soft, sincere, and Emma goes abruptly warm when his eyes drift towards her again. Charming claps him on the shoulder and makes to leave but Killian's gaze stays with her the entire time.

"By the way," her father stills, head turned over his shoulder. "Have we…have we met before?"

It's only then that his eyes flicker back to Charming and Emma releases the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Killian smiles and it's full of affection. "No, I don't believe so."

"Hmm," Charming hums, though by the look on his face, he seems unconvinced.

Killian shrugs nonchalantly, amusement dancing along the edges of his mouth. "Perhaps our paths will cross again."

"Perhaps," he agrees.

There's some odd little moment between them, some sort of mutual understanding and simple _knowing_ of each other. It's a testament to their friendship which seems hell-bent on spanning across realms, though it's jarring to see them this way, to see so much of the future in so much of the past.

Charming gives a final wave then heads off in the direction Emma had just come from. It's not until his steps cease echoing that she emerges from her hiding place. Killian smiles at her, all knowing and handsome and again, when he holds out his hand for her, she goes easily, _willingly_, though tries not to think too much about that, instead focusing on how comforted it makes her feel to have him with her on this journey.

"Ready?" he wonders.

She nods and they follow after Charming. By the time they reach Snow's hideout, she's already trapped in the net Killian had helped fashion. Her father's smug voice fills the air.

"I told you I'd find you. No matter what you do, I will always find you."

"Aren't you a real _Prince Charming_," Snow sneers.

Killian chuckles quietly beside her as they peek out behind a grove of trees. "Ah, and so the moniker is born."

"Shh," she hisses. "I can't hear."

"I thought you read this story already, love."

"I did," she whispers back. "It's just entirely different in real-time, okay?" And maybe she has an ever growing soft spot for Snow White and Prince Charming and their early beginnings. It's one of the most iconic tales in the Land Without Magic, it's literally the stuff of fairytales and she has a front-row, center view, no way is she going to pass up on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to witness this particular love story come to fruition.

He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of her ear, warm breath making her shiver involuntarily. "Romantic."

She pokes at his ribs and rolls her eyes, ignoring the wide grin that makes his dimples flash. "Hardly. Now hush, I'm watching!"

"I have a name you know," Charming says.

"Don't care," Snow retorts. "'Charming' suits you."

The exchange that follows is full of sass and banter that eerily resembles a married couple already and Emma can't help but smile. They were a perfect match, her parents.

"Fight like an old married couple, those two," Killian comments.

Emma's eyes flash to him and hold, studying his profile. The fact that his thoughts mirror hers is what triggers the myriad of memories that flash through her mind of all the times that _they've_ argued and sassed each other and bantered _like an old married couple_. She's dumbstruck, frozen in place by such a heavy, _heavy_ realization.

"Looks like the poster worked for blackmail," he says, too distracted by the scene to notice her sudden stillness and silence. "Brilliant idea that was, love. Come on, let's go, they're heading towards the Troll Bridge now."

He doesn't offer his hand this time, simply takes hers like it's the most natural gesture in the world, like he's been doing it forever, and leads the way after her parents while Emma's thoughts swirl in an overwhelming storm around her head.

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><p>"You have to talk to him," Killian murmurs, head craning over the dense foliage they're hiding behind and watching her father flailing and sputtering about in the river after Snow had taken her knee to his groin and pushed him in.<p>

And _no_, she doesn't think about New York again, or how he'd tried to True Love kiss her, or how she'd done the _exact same thing_. She absolutely _does not_. And neither does she acknowledge the pointed arch of his eyebrow and the side comment about 'history finding ways to repeat itself.'

"I can't talk to him!" she answers, steering him away from _their_ story — this isn't about them, it's about her parents, after all.

He watches her a moment longer, gaze intense, and she can feel the need he has to _say something_ on that other matter, about _them_, but instead he sighs and leaves it be. "I've already spoken to him, he'll bloody likely think I'm following him and we can't have that kind of suspicion blooming in his mind, can we?"

She's a retort on her lips — something about messing too much with the events that happen and affecting the consequences and how Gold _specifically _warned them not to screw anything up more than they already have — but before she can get to it, he's already shoving her out onto the pebbled shore of the river.

She curses under her breath and scowls at the smirk on his face — so much for man of honor — but her attention is immediately drawn to the coughing and splashing at the edge of the water where her father is dragging himself onto the bank.

"Go on, darling," Killian encourages.

She bares her teeth at him in a frustrated snarl then begrudgingly lifts the bottom of her skirt to jog towards Charming. "Hey! Are you alright?"

He coughs, gasping for breath and sighs heavily. "I'm fine, just a little wet is all."

She smiles, can't help help it, and crouches down to touch a hand to his shoulder. "I ah- I saw you go in, what happened? Who was that woman?"

"A stubborn, pain in the ass," he mumbles, groaning as he moves to sit down.

She tries not to laugh, never imagining her father to be the cursing type. Then she feels a little twinge in her heart, knowing instinctively Killian would describe her the same way. She tucks that piece of information away, not really sure if she plans to come back to it later, but hanging on to it nonetheless.

"Was that the ah- woman on Regin- the Queen's 'WANTED' posters?"

His eyes lift to hers in the way that they've done so many times, only with far less recognition. "Yeah…wait, do you know her?" He grips her arm suddenly, fingers digging into her skin through the material of her dress. "She has something of mine that I need back. She promised she would help me acquire it and then…well, you saw."

Emma gives him a sympathetic smile. "She's something of a…legend around these parts — the mysterious and elusive bandit, always stealing from the Queen and somehow getting away with it. I don't know her personally but she's being hunted by the Queen's guards. I saw them patrolling the woods a little bit ago. She might need some help."

He sighs heavily, grumbling about how he hadn't signed up for this, then reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose — it's a familiar gesture, one she strangely finds some comfort in.

"Oh, I'll help her, right into their arms, I'll help her," he mutters sourly.

"You don't mean that," she replies, and the words come out before she can stop them. She can feel Killian's gaze on them but she resists glancing in his direction, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to him.

He laughs wryly and groans as his body protests while he slowly rises to his feet. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because," she says slowly, searching for the words (she's never been good with them, damn it). "Sometimes you have to lead by example and…be the change you want to see in the world." She very nearly cringes at the loose use of a Gandhi quote her mind happened to conjure (what even), but she somehow manages to relax her face. "And besides, it- it wouldn't be the honorable thing to do to just…leave her to those monsters."

She holds his eyes, silently pleading with him and counting on the fact that in present time, he'd never been able to deny her anything, and hoping that even across time, before she even _existed_, that little tidbit would still ring true. "You don't strike me as that sort of a person."

"What makes you say that?"

"You…have kind eyes." She smiles softly, her heart squeezing. "They remind me of my father's. He's…a really good man, he has a compassionate heart, a good spirit."

He squints at her, something flashing across his face. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name was again?"

"Emma." She almost slaps a hand over her mouth because shit, _she wasn't supposed to say that_.

"_Emma_," he repeats. He seems to be thinking about that. "That's a pretty name."

"Thanks," she beams because the realization that _she'd_ given _herself_ her own name dawns on her. "It seems my father gave it to me."

He contemplates her for a long time, and if she hadn't been paying so close attention, she would have missed the moment her words had resonated with him. "It seems your name wasn't the only thing he'd given you, but his compassion as well."

Emma points in the direction that Snow ran. "She went that way. Good luck."

Charming chuckles, shaking his head as he heads off after his True Love with a final wave for her.

When Killian joins her, he's grinning from ear-to-ear. "Nicely done, Savior."

She grabs onto his hand, excitement coiling in her belly, then drags him after her parents. "Let's go!"

They show up just in time to see Snow returning on a horse towards Charming.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"You…you saved me," Snow replies, confusion wrinkling her brow.

"It seemed like the honorable thing to do."

They stand staring at each other, unspoken words passing between them and building an _excruciating_ amount of tension — she insists it's _not familiar, not familiar, not familiar_. Despite that, Emma's heart is light — soft and warm in her chest — and for the first time since they'd started this entire crazy adventure, she feels hopeful and sure that the ending will be exactly as it was meant to.

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><p>From there, everything progresses rather quickly and extremely true to Henry's book. She watches her parents face-off against the trolls, working seamlessly together like a team. She watches how her mother stands protectively in front of Charming, pleading her case as she attempts to make a trade back for his jewels.<p>

Things get dicey for a second when the trolls turn on them and Snow begs for them not to hurt Charming. Emma's protective instincts kick in and she moves to help, but Killian grips her arm to keep her in place and tells her to have a little faith in her parents' capabilities — they're building an epic love story after all, what's a little romance without a little danger?

The trolls discover Snow's identity and the roles are reversed when Charming becomes the protector. Emma is on the edge of her seat and she can feel Killian's eyes on her, giving her a knowing look because at the core, she's a romantic at heart and she knows he finds it endearing. Her mind simultaneously thinks, of its own accord, about how Killian had faced off with the giant at the top of the beanstalk, providing a much needed distraction for Emma to hit him with poppy powder and effectively render him unconscious. They'd made quite the team then, and looking back on everything else that had happened since that first little adventure of their own, they still did.

There's a fist around her heart, squeezing tightly and making her ache all over. The emotions bombard her, fill her to the brim and she's frightened by how overwhelming and suffocating they are.

Charming sends Snow off and the situation abruptly takes a dangerous turn, drawing her attention back. She curses foully, calling her mother an idiot, but she can see the emotions on Snow's face, can see her warring with her freedom and revenge and going back for Charming. She's reminded of Killian returning with the bean, offering his ship and his services to save Henry.

_I thought you didn't care about anyone but yourself._

_Maybe I just needed reminding that I could._

She knows the precise moment Snow makes her choice and she can't contain the excited, little '_yes!'_ that escapes her lips when her mother comes back and uses the fairy dust around her neck to turn the trolls into bugs.

"You. You saved me," Charming repeats the words back to her.

"It was the honorable thing to do," Snow replies, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

It's right there, in the shadows of the troll bridge that the first sparks of love are ignited and she watches as Snow White basically hands Prince Charming her heart. She'd be lying if she didn't admit to feeling a little choked up about the whole thing or admit to the fact that tears were welling behind her eyes. Then another memory flashes into Emma — the shadows of Dark Hollow, her desperate cry, the panic rising in her, the sudden realization that she couldn't _bear_ to lose him, and finally the conjuring of a flame with her magic to protect what was hers.

Killian's hand is warm when he grasps hers, drawing her gaze to him. The corners of his mouth tip up as he studies her and she shies away, taking a step back because he sees _too much_. His grip is firm though and he nods towards where her parents are walking off.

"We have to go," he tells her softly, fingers squeezing in reassurance.

She doesn't say anything, merely nods and follows behind him when he takes the lead. They stop a few feet off the beaten path and watch as Snow and Charming continue to dance around each other. Their awkward shuffling and shy smiles and lingering looks warm her heart and she can't keep from smiling at how adorably lovesick they already are.

Snow tries on her father's ring and she chuckles at Charming's expression while he looks on at his future wife staring at the ring on her finger. Her mother lifts her eyes to her father's and Emma's breath catches in her throat as the tears pool again. It's beautiful to watch, to see her parents — the bandit princess and the shepherd turned prince — fall in love in such an unexpected way, and to know that _she_ had come from such a pure and true union.

She hands Charming back the ring and the look on his face makes Emma's stomach clench — the utter adoration, the soft smile, and the light in his eyes sends a sharp jolt down her spine because it's so _achingly_ familiar. Her heart constricts and all she can focus on is Killian's hand on her back and the warm press of his body into her side as he watches the story conclude beside her.

"If you need anything-" Charming tells her.

"You'll find me?" Snow finishes for him.

"Always."

Tears spill onto her cheeks and she sniffles as she wipes at the wetness with her hands. Killian pulls her just a little closer, lowering his forehead to the side of her head and chuckling lightly in her ear. He jests about how sappy her father is and she nudges her elbow into his side but laughs lightly through her tears, thankful that he's lightened the mood. Her eyes are trailed on her mother though, and how she glances back after her father, who keeps trekking towards the palace, and she finally gets it.

It all clicks into place, she finally understands what it means to _let go_, to love that wholly and deeply and absolutely, and it makes the tears fall faster as this huge wave of emotion washes over her and makes her head reel.

"We did it," Killian says quietly.

Her heart aches for him, _beats_ for him, and she gives a watery laugh as she tilts her head onto his shoulder. She's had everything all along — all the love, the _home_ she'd been searching for all this time was right here, right next to her and back in Storybrooke. She'd just been too stubborn to see it, too scared to reach out and take it.

She slips her arms around his waist and hangs on tight. "Yeah, I guess we did."

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><p>They find an Inn for the evening in a small little town right near the port. She'd been quiet for most of their journey, distracted and lost in her thoughts as she trudged along beside him. He'd let her be, keeping to himself though reaching out to rest his hand on her back every so often. The gesture could be taken as a chivalrous one but she knows better — she knows it's meant to soothe himself, because now that their mission is completed, they have to find a way to get back to Storybrooke and the sooner they do, the sooner he thinks she'll leave.<p>

She leans back agains the door when they enter their quarters, watching him start a fire to warm the room and only half listening to him discuss possible options to get them back across time. Orange light flickers across his unfairly handsome face and when he turns to look at her with those endlessly expressive blue eyes, she feels the breath back up into her lungs.

"I'll ah- I'll take the floor," he tells her, glancing at what would be a far too cozy bed to share between two people who weren't…intimately _involved_ and gesturing towards a spot in front of the hearth.

There's a question that's been gnawing at her since they'd started the last leg of their walk to the Inn, and as she stares at him — her dashing, loyal, _loving_ (oh _God) _pirate — she knows what his answer will be, but she needs to _hear_ the truth of his words.

"Killian?"

"Yes, love?" he asks, busily collecting a pillow and stripping the bed of one of the layers of the sheets.

She waits for him to look at her, waits for him to lift those blue orbs to hers before crossing the room to stand in front of him. She waits a few heartbeats, contemplating him while her eyes drift across the familiar planes of his face.

"What is it, Swan?" His voice is concerned, brow pinched in worry.

"Would you…if- if I asked you to come with me and Henry to New York, could you do it?" She blurts out the question in one rushed breath and abruptly finds herself unable to breathe.

His eyes squint in confusion as his head angles to the side. "What?"

"I- Would you…come with us?" she repeats — a little slower, a little softer this time.

He sets down the items in his hands then faces her, stepping forward until he's close enough to touch her. He brushes her hair off her shoulder but that's as far as he goes, eyes raising to meet hers again. There's so much there, so much that still scares her yet somehow just…_doesn't_ anymore.

"I crossed realms for you, love. If that is as you wish, how is that even a question?" Something flickers across his expression, something akin to _understanding_ and hope sparks tentatively in his eyes.

She doesn't reply, just continues to _feel_ and watch him in wide-eyed wonder while she nods her head at his answer.

"Is…is that what you want?" he asks her.

She doesn't realize how fast her heart is hammering in her chest until her name is on the tip of his tongue, she can hear the beginnings of it before she simply closes the distance between them and grabs onto the collar of his coat before closing her mouth over his. It's almost exactly as she remembers it, it's almost exactly the same — the same explosive heat, the same electricity, the same insatiable need. The only difference is that, somehow, it's _more_.

Light flashes into her, bright and warm and _stunning_, freezing time and holding them in this one gorgeous moment where nothing exists except for them. Then it suddenly explodes outwards in an overwhelming pulse of air and array of colors that leaves her breathless.

They break the kiss, staring at each other with wide, disbelieving eyes. There's no time to speak of it though because the air abruptly changes, shimmering around them before beginning to swirl like a tornado. It picks up speed and the last things she remembers are Killian's arms tightening protectively around her and the anxious hitch of her belly before they are sucked down, down, down into the vortex…

She lands with a rough thud beside him, hissing in pain as her shoulder is jarred. "Son of a bitch," she mutters, pushing up onto her elbows and eyeing the well a few feet away. She freaking _hates_ portals and she would live happily the rest of her life if she never had to go through another one again and- _the well!_

Emma looks to the landmark then down at herself, a face-splitting grin crossing her face. She's never been so excited about jeans and her leather jacket until this moment. She tucks her knees under her and leans back, glancing over at Killian. He's dressed in his favored black leather and it makes her smile widen - _son of a bitch! _They did it, they made it back.

"You okay?" she asks.

He grumbles under his breath and sits up slowly, rubbing at his arm soothingly. His eyes abruptly land on her, they hold her gaze intensely and her stomach clenches at the myriad of emotions that dance over his features. She barely has time to breathe his name, let alone protest, before he's fisting the front of her shirt in his hand and hauling her against him for another searing kiss.

Her response is instantaneous, hands reaching up to hold his face and anchor herself to him. There's no gentleness, no soft coaxing of lips, no savoring — it's all bruising and wanting and unbridled and- _Jesus Christ_. His body presses into hers, molding itself against her softness while his hand shifts to trail down her arm, her side, until finally reaching its destination at her hip. His fingers dig into flesh and bone and a soft little whimper tears itself from the back of her throat as his other arm slides around her waist.

Everything that's inside of her, everything that she's kept locked away, everything that's been threatening to spill over…finally _does_ and she pours it all into this kiss — silently saying the things she can't, feeling the things she's denied for so long, expressing the things she never thought she'd be able to again.

She'd taken so much from him for so long, that now all she seems to be able to do is _give_. She moves her hands into his hair, tangling in the soft tresses and gripping for purchase as she angles her head to deepen the kiss.

He follows her lead, arms wrapping tightly around her waist as they continue to lose themselves in each other — in the pent up frustration and the hurt and the anger they had caused so much of, in the healing of eager mouths and possessive caresses and open hearts.

Her tongue swipes boldly across his bottom lip, seeking entrance — he doesn't deny her, he's never been able to — and at the first rough stroke of their tongues, they groan simultaneously. He tastes sinful and dark, like something that was never meant to be hers but somehow _is_ and it's both beautiful and overwhelming and she can't _breathe_, but it's he that breaks the kiss. He rests his forehead against hers, gasping for breath and she smiles smugly because she knows little stars are dancing around his head too.

"_Swan_," he exhales.

She'll never tire of the way he says that.

"I knew it," he murmurs, exceptionally pleased with himself.

She laughs because he's such an idiot. "I'm not going back to New York," she tells him.

"Imagine that," he murmurs, and she hears the teasing in his voice.

"My home is in Storybrooke — my parents, my brother, Henry, my friends…they're all here. _You're here_ and that's where I want to be, that's what I want."

"Good," he answers.

She feels his grin, feels the relief radiating off of him, and she smiles in turn. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry. You were right. I was scared, I still am in some ways but…I- Killian, I- _God_, I'm sorry, I'm not good with words, I-"

He shakes his head and cups her face once more, his thumb stroking over the curve of cheek. "You don't need words, I understand you just fine."

Emma laughs, her heart squeezing sweetly. Of course he did.

"I still…I still love you all the same," he says softly, pulling back to look at her. "And if you can't say the words back…I can say them for the both of us."

_Oooh_. It aches, everything _aches_ but she's unable to push away her feelings anymore. The tears come from out of nowhere, pooling in her eyes and sneaking onto her cheeks. He smiles at her and brushes them away with the pad of his thumb, and the expression on his handsome face is so affectionate it makes her heart jump into her throat. He's such a goof, such an amazing, wonderful, loving goof, but perhaps the best part is that he's _hers_.

Emma takes his face into her hands and looks him straight in the eyes. "I love you. I'm sorry that it took me so long to accept it and to tell you, but I do."

He studies her silently for a long time, allowing her admission to hang sweetly in the air between them. "For someone who claims to be awful with words, you did just fine." He hooks his finger under her chin and thumbs at the little dent there. "Just fine."

She smiles again and as she launches herself at him, knocking him over while she presses her mouth to his, she realizes that though this is her 'Happily Ever After' moment, it's not in fact, _the end_. It's just the beginning and that's far better.

_Fin_


End file.
